


First Contact

by TheSciFiBlob



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Pandemic, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Love Letters, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, With A Twist, descriptions of characters getting sick, descriptions of minor injury, descriptions of sedation / loss of bodily control, mentions of parental loss & trauma, mentions of past minor character deaths, robin hood!Atsumu
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:27:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29468706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSciFiBlob/pseuds/TheSciFiBlob
Summary: One century and eleven years into the quarantine ... a sharp-tongued Outer City villain and an unyielding Inner District hero meet for the first time.Miya Atsumu knows his role in the world. Every few nights, he steals over the wall separating his neighborhood from the privileged Inner District, returning at dawn with a stash of contraband vaccines. Nothing is more important to him than protecting his small found family and his community from the deadly virus circulating the Outer City.Sakusa Kiyoomi knows his role in the world. Wealthy son of the Inner District Mayor, he has never set foot outside the Inner District's walls - for good reason. Walls exist for protection, and Sakusa's Youth Border Security Team will do everything in their power to bolster that defense. No matter what it takes, he will not let the virus spread to the Inner District.Neither are prepared for one fateful midnight encounter - or the steady unraveling of truth, fear, and long-held beliefs that follow.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Once upon a time, this fic was a fluffy one-shot for day 3 of sakuatsu fluff week, but it quickly morphed into something ... much longer and decidedly less fluffy. Oops. 
> 
> Still responds to the 3 prompts of fluff week day 3: rivals to lovers, hero/villain AU, "let's just stay like this for a little longer"
> 
> Oh, the days when one could write fluff without an entire dystopian world emerging from the shadows.
> 
> Posting the first chapter and a half today -- and will finish updating after fluff week ends!
> 
> Update: For folks who've read the first two chapters already, just a heads up that I made some minor changes. Nothing that impacts the plot - just cut a few lines here and there to have it read faster.
> 
> I've updated the tags to include content warnings for the fic, and will also put chapter-specific warnings in the beginning notes. 
> 
> Also as you can probably tell, this fic has more than doubled in length lol. Will try to post a new chapter once every two weeks!
> 
> Chapter 1 content warnings: descriptions of a pandemic, mentions of flu-related death, mysophobia-related anxiety

One century and eleven years into the quarantine, at the stroke of midnight, Atsumu scaled the wall and leapt into the city.

He moved fast and quiet, launching from the high city wall to the nearest roof. He landed with barely a sound, pausing on the slippery bricks to check his footing and listen for any signs that he’d been spotted. He hadn’t, of course. He was skilled at this. The city’s nightlife greeted him like an old friend, the sounds of crowds and laughter filling him with warmth. Atsumu let the sounds envelop him for only a moment, before he was picking his way across the rooftops of the city, carrying himself with a confidence only possible after years of practice.

On his missions, he wore black clothes from head to toe and brought no tools beside his mother’s hairpin. For luck, and picking locks. Osamu often joked that he was the lamest supervillain in existence. Let him. Atsumu worked best this way, traveling light and moving fast.

He leapt onto the next roof. Almost as long as he could remember, Atsumu had been breaking into the city’s walled district. He had vague memories of his mother teaching him to scale the wall, to move fast and silent across rooftops. She was the thief before him, the fast-moving spectre that haunted the walled city and plundered their precious vaccine stockpiles. When she was gone, Atsumu took her place.

He ducked away from the yellow glow of a street lamp. Atsumu had never known a world without the virus. Sometimes Kita’s grandfather would tell them stories about a time before the mysterious flu had spread, before the wall rose and the city was divided between the vaccinated and the unclean. He and Osamu listened to that story like a myth. It was impossible to imagine a world without the wall, a world where his family and Osamu and Kita hadn’t been abandoned to the outer city where the influenza spread on.

Atsumu jumped across an alleyway onto a warehouse roof.  _ Still, we’re not helpless _ , he thought. The Outer City had learned to survive. Atsumu had learned to survive. He scaled his way down the wall and landed on the ground. He crept between the shadows toward the back door -- the one his mother had shown him so many years ago. From there, it was a simple twist of the hairpin and he was in.

Vaccines lined the warehouse shelves, boxes and boxes of those clear vials stacked up to the roof. Atsumu snorted at the vast stockpile. He knew the vaccine was annual, requiring nearly the entire community to be inoculated to be effective. There was a reason the flu never fully disappeared from the outer city, even with his mother’s years of work. 

_ Still _ , Atsumu thought disdainfully, looking around at the size of the warehouse. _ You’d think they could spare a few for us. _

He filled his pockets and a large sack with the vials, grabbing generous handfuls of needles and syringes on his way out. He locked the door behind him. No need for them to know he’d been here for at least another week. 

The rest was easy going. Atsumu traced his steps back across the roofs, slowed only slightly by his cargo. He’d been doing this for years, and never once been caught. He was good at this.

He made it all the way to the edge of the wall when his foot caught onto something. He stumbled, falling knee-first onto the steel. 

“ Shit!” he cursed, a sharp pain shooting up his legs. He took a long breath to center himself, then looked down to assess the situation.

His knees looked alright - a little scratched up, a little bruised. Nothing he hadn’t seen before. His foot, however, was the real problem; the sole of his right shoe stuck stubbornly to the steel surface of the wall. He tried to shift; it didn’t budge. When Atsumu looked closer, he saw the shine of some liquid splattered onto his shoelace. An adhesive. 

Atsumu cursed liberally, then took a deep breath. What had his mother taught him about moments of crisis? Step one: Assess your surroundings. He looked around, taking in the quiet of the night. So far, so good; no one had seen him yet.

Step two: Protect what’s important. He glanced at the sack of vaccine vials, then down at the low bushes and climbing vines that encircled the wall. Not a perfect cushion, but it would do. Some of the vials might crack on impact; he’d have to explain to Kita when he got back. Apologizing silently, he nudged the sack of vaccines until it slid off the wall and tumbled into the foliage.

Step three: Get to safety. He looked down at his shoe again, sighing deeply. He’d worn these on his missions for the past five years. New black sneakers weren’t easy to come by outside the wall. They were also a gift from Osamu -- and although he’d die before admitting it to his twin, they felt safe, like a piece of home. 

He was still contemplating how much his twin brother would murder him when a series of small object whizzed past either side of his head. He yelped, jerking away, and tried to cover his head with his hands. Unfortunately, his hands refused to move. He looked down and his heart skipped a beat; around his hands, his elbows, his calves, a series of darts pierced through the fabric of his clothes, pinning him to the wall.

“Don’t move.” Atsumu looked up to see a shadow-encased figure standing on a nearby roof, facing him. The figure had one hand raised, holding what Atsumu assumed was another dart. “Or the next one goes in your neck.”

Step four: Never show weakness. Atsumu gave himself a second of fear, before he lifted his masked face toward the figure. He let arrogance seep into his tone. “Afraid to show yerself?” he called out. 

“As if.” A low scoff. “I’m not the one who’s trapped.” Atsumu heard a hint of annoyance, and grinned behind his mask; an emotional target was a weak one. He began subtly scanning his surroundings, looking for anything he could use to his advantage. 

Then the figure stepped into the light, and Atsumu’s brain came to a stuttering halt.

He was  _ attractive _ , a cascade of black hair framing his forehead and jawline in ringlets. He cut an imposing figure, standing tall in a yellow-green windbreaker with one hand tucked into his pockets. The color would have looked strange on anyone else. On him, Atsumu thought, it brought out the dark shine of his eyes. Most of his face was hidden behind a large surgical mask. He could make out an impassive gase and a sharp jaw, and two moles dotted above his right eyebrow. The hand holding a dart was encased securely in a black nitrile glove. 

He was currently glaring at Atsumu with eyebrows raised, looking unimpressed. “Your accent,” he said. “You’re from outside the wall.”

Atsumu let out a laugh that he hoped came off as unaffected, rather than the high-pitched inner monologue happening in his head.  _ Pull yourself together _ , he chastised himself in Kita’s voice. He’d have to work on his unfortunate weakness for handsome faces at a later time.

“Are ya tryin’ to ask me a question?”

The man glared harder. “Who are you?”

Atsumu tsked. “Aw, c’mon, don’t tell me ya don’t recognize me! Woulda thought I’d at least be an urban legend around here by now.” He nodded out at the streets of the inner district. “Ya know, with all my brilliant thievery work and all.”

The man’s eyebrows wrinkled further, and Atsumu was hit with the inexplicable urge to smooth the frown off his face. He watched the man’s eyes take in his black clothes, his mask. “You’re the shadow thief.”

Atsumu laughed for real this time. “Is that what the kids are callin’ me these days?”

“What’s your real name?”

“For you?” Atsumu smiled flirtatiously behind his mask. “Ya can call me by my alter ego. Memento Mori, at your service.” He inclined his head playfully.

The man snorted. “Death. Fitting, for you.” Something almost like anxiety flashed through his eyes. Atsumu cocked his head.  _ Interesting _ .

“The real question,” Atsumu said slowly, “is who are ya?”

“Sakusa Kiyoomi.” The man answered without hesitation. “Division leader of the Youth Border Security Team.”

“Oho.” Atsumu’s smile grew even wider. “Sakusa. As in the mayor’s son, Sakusa?”

“As in division leader of the Youth Border Security Team, Sakusa.” The steel reappeared in his voice.

Atsumu laughed again; he couldn’t help it. “Alright, alright. Stickler for achievement, I gotcha. Hey, since we’re friends now, mind if I call ya Omi-kun?”

Anger flashed through Sakusa’s eyes. “We are not. Friends.”

“Whatever ya say, Omi-Omi. Say, why do ya wear yer mask and gloves around? Thought the inner district was free of the virus.”

Another flash of anxiety flashed through Sakusa’s eyes, before it was replaced by frustration. “The virus is never truly gone,” he muttered. His eyes flickered beyond the wall, then back. “You can never be too careful.”

“Hmm.” Atsumu fidgeted with a small object in his left hand. “Careful there, Omi. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say ya were actually worried ‘bout what’s happenin’ out there.”

Sakusa swallowed; looked away for a moment. “We’re getting off topic.” He looked back. “You’ve stolen vaccines. Where are they?”

Ah. This conversation Atsumu was familiar with. He slid into his script with ease.

“Ya know, theft is really a curious thing.” He tilted his head, appraising Sakusa. “See, where I live, a new person dies from the virus every fuckin’ week. Why don’t ya tell me, Omi-kun, why no one talks ‘bout the lives the inner district stole from us?”

Sakusa looked curiously tense. Atsumu didn’t expect this conversation to affect him this much, but he wasn’t complaining. It was helpful, after all, for the plan starting to form in the corners of his mind. 

“I’m sorry,” Sakusa muttered. “But I can’t let you keep crossing the wall. You’ll bring the virus to the inner district.”

“Ah. And what makes ya think ya can stop me?”

“You’re trapped and can’t move.”

Atsumu’s grin morphed into something sharp. “An’ that’s where yer wrong.” 

Like lightning, he flung something small and needle sharp into the air. His mother’s hairpin glinted gold in the moonlight before it pierced Sakusa’s face mask, grazing his mouth. Atsumu watched as Sakusa’s eyes widened in panic, and he dropped his dart to hook the compromised mask off his face and fling it far. “You … you idiot!” he hissed, flinching away from the exposure.

Altogether, it gave Atsumu five seconds free from Sakusa’s gaze. He pulled as hard as he could until his clothes tore free of the darts. He slid his right foot from his trapped shoe (sending a quick apology to Osamu) and swung his legs over the wall’s edge.

By the time Sakusa looked back, Atsumu was sliding off the wall into the dark. “Lesson number four!” he shouted over his shoulder. “Never show yer weaknesses, Omi-kun!” He tumbled into the all-encompassing foliage on the other side of the wall.

Behind him, framed by the soft moonlight, a black-haired boy watched the Shadow Thief disappear into a world he couldn’t enter. His shoulders shivered with fear and shock and the strangest sense of anticipation.

* * *

On his hour-long trek home, Atsumu had a lot of time to think.

His first thought was that Kita was going to kill him.

He’d landed haphazardly in the low bushes, right leg twisting strangely beneath him. He was walking with a slight limp now, and his clothes sported tears where he’d broken free of the darts. Osamu would take one look at him and tell him off for coming home in tatters. 

Kita would pull that face, the one that was simultaneously gentle and reprimanding and led to Atsumu’s death by remorse every time. 

His second thought was that they wouldn’t be able to vaccinate everyone.

Almost as soon as he landed, Atsumu scrambled through the bushes until he found the sack of vaccines. The undergrowth had cushioned most of the fall, but the vials weren’t invincible. It was remarkable, really, that half the supply had survived the long tumble. Atsumu couldn’t find it in himself to be grateful. Half the supply meant half the vaccinations, half the number of people he could protect. It was maybe enough to vaccinate the youngest kids and Kita’s grandparents. It wasn’t nearly enough for all the kids under ten. Kita would probably ask him to run another mission, take another dive into the inner district where...

His third thought led him to Sakusa.

Really, he hadn’t planned to spend the majority of his trip pondering the handsome face. He was thinking about the adhesive on the wall, the trap which meant a new and methodical security system rising in the inner district. (Atsumu would have to pay closer attention on his next mission.) This led him to think about the series of pinpoint dart throws that landed so impeccably into his clothes, not one grazing his skin. Which led him to think about the surgical mask, the yellow-green windbreaker, the proud black eyes, the ringlets of hair, the two moles above his right eyebrow. Sakusa Kiyoomi. The mayor’s son. A sharpshot. Leader of the Youth Border Security Team.

Curse him and his dart throwing and his damn attractive face

As Atsumu clambered through the cover of forest between the wall and the outer city, something else came to mind. The slight flinches. The mask and black nitrile gloves. The way Sakusa’s eyes darted past the wall. 

_ You can never be too careful _ , he’d said.

Sakusa, the mayor’s son, was afraid of the virus.

Atsumu, who had seen more cases of the flu than he cared to count, found this shocking.

It wasn’t that he expected total bliss and ignorance.  _ No _ , Atsumu thought decidedly as he stepped over a fallen branch. It was more that he’d seen the carefree celebration, the fireworks on New Year’s and the way unmasked friends held hands in the streets.  _ It was apathy _ , he thought as he walked. It was the way the inner district knew of another world, another way of life, and chose contentedly to ignore it. 

Until Sakusa. Sakusa Kiyoomi, whose fear of the other world Atsumu could read in his every movement, every flicker of emotion through his eyes. 

It sent a strange pang of guilt into Atsumu’s stomach. He thought back to his mother’s hairpin. He tried to swallow it down, but like Sakusa’s face it refused to subside.  _ Damn it, Atsumu _ , he cursed himself.  _ Don’t go soft on the enemy now _ . 

The line of trees broke and Atsumu emerged into a cluster of apartment buildings, weathered from the elements and years of living. He turned left and walked towards a familiar red door, the smell of onigiri and the warm sound of laughter wafting from the building. From beyond the door he heard muttered snippets of an accent not unlike his own.

He opened the door to the voice.

“--doesn’t come home by noon, I swear I’ll cook his damn liver for dinner-- oh, fuckin’ shit, Tsumu!” A spatula hit the door by Atsumu’s head, thrown by a wide-eyed, angry-looking boy in an apron. “What the hell happened to ya? Ya look like ya got chewed up and spat out by a bear!”

Atsumu snorted and tossed the spatula back at his silver-haired mirror image. It found the kitchen wall and splashed into a simmering pot of soup. “Yeah, yeah. Nice to see ya too, Samu.”

“Where the fuck is yer other shoe, ya brainless slug?”

Atsumu tossed the sack of vaccines onto the nearest tattered couch cushions. He hooked the black mask off his face and began fishing handfuls of vials from his pockets. “I know ya too well for yer shitty intimidation tactics, Samu. Don’t worry, I missed ya too.” He sighed and eased himself into a seat by the kitchen table.

“Ya grimy fool! Ya lost it, didn’t ya?”

“Oi! It wasn’t my fault, Samu.” Atsumu let out a whine. “Some shitty pretty boy set traps around the wall. ‘S not my fault I stepped in one, okay?”

Osamu snorted. “Yer a Class F villain, Tsumu.” He fished the spatula from the soup pot and used it to slide three onigiri onto a plate. He pushed the plate across the table toward Atsumu. “A pretty boy, huh? ‘S a date more important than bein’ home for breakfast nowadays?”

Atsumu shot his brother a glare. “Wasn’t like that and ya know it.”

“Didn’t think so. He’d have to be pretty dumb to find ya attractive.”

“Oi! We’ve got the same face, dumbass!"

Atsumu tried to tackle him across the table with a mouthful of onigiri. He was swatted away promptly with a soup-covered spatula, and grabbed a pair of chopsticks off the table, poised to throw. 

“Ya didn’t think you’d get out of an injury check, did ya?”

Atsumu froze mid-throw. Sheepishly, he set the chopsticks down and turned to face the soft-spoken boy who’d just walked into the kitchen. 

“Kita.” Atsumu tracked the silver-black haired boy’s movements toward the vaccines spilled over the couch, guilt already settling in his stomach. 

“Atsumu, ya look like ya took a dive off the wall.”

“Kita, I--I’m sorry, the vaccines--”

“Can wait. Sit down, Atsumu.” Kita moved to sit on one side of the couch, gesturing beside him. Atsumu shuffled over and rolled up the hems of his black jeans. 

“ ‘S just my knees,” he mumbled. “Scraped ‘em on the wall.”

Kita moved his hands above the scrapes and bruises. Atsumu closed his eyes, a bright warmth settling above his knees. He’d forgotten what Kita’s healing powers felt like; it had been a while since he ran into any mission-related complications.

“So are ya gonna tell me what happened?”

Atsumu and Osamu spoke at the same time.

“Ran into a trap,” Atsumu mumbled.

“Went on a date with a pretty boy,” Osamu quipped.

Atsumu’s eyes shot open with a loud noise of protest. “What?” he sputtered at his brother. “He tried to kill me with a fuckin’ dart, Samu! It was attempted murder, not a date!”

Osamu snorted. “S’not like ya’d be able to tell the difference anyhow.”

“Oi! Speak for yer damn self.”

“Who was it?” Kita’s voice cut into their argument, and Atsumu turned to find Kita watching him with concern.

“Sakusa Kiyoomi,” Atsumu admitted quietly.

The spatula clattered loudly where Osamu dropped it on the counter. “Shit!” he cursed. “Sakusa Kiyoomi, the mayor’s son? Sharpshootin’ champion? Nasty as hell curve throw?  _ That _ Sakusa Kiyoomi?” He glowered at Atsumu over a second plate of onigiri. “What the fuck was he doin’ attackin’ ya with a dart, Tsumu?” 

Atsumu sighed. This was going to be a long explanation.

* * *

Sakusa, maskless and exposed, arrived home in record time.

Home was the mayor’s house, a towering mansion with white walls, trimmed lawns, and a balcony that wrapped all the way around the third floor. Sakusa rushed through the double doors as the sun rose. He gave the marble floors and dangling lights barely a backwards glands, tearing past the library and his father’s office (where the loud expletives of a morning meeting echoed through the door). He burst into the bathroom and, grabbing his bottle of mouthwash, proceeded to rinse, gargle, and spit for thirteen straight cycles.

Eventually, something settled in the back of Sakusa’s mind. His hands began to shake less harshly, his shoulders eased a little closer to a relaxed state. He grabbed his facewash and lathered and scrubbed generously, then dabbed a layer of rubbing alcohol to his lips with a cotton swab before applying chapstick. And then he sank onto the sanitized floor, drawing a deep breath and closing his eyes.

His lungs still worked, he found with relief. An obnoxious voice in his mind reminded him that flu symptoms emerged three to five days after initial infection. He’d have to monitor his body closely for symptoms. 

He was going to murder that shadow thief the next time he met him.

Eyes still closed, Sakusa thought back to the hairpin. He’d seen it flying through the air, glinting gold, and mapped its trajectory backwards to a boy with shining eyes of the same color. It was foolish of him. He almost didn’t register that it was an infected object -- dirty by virtue of its origins beyond the wall. And it was heading straight at him.

His mask was still sitting somewhere at the base of the wall, crumpled and pierced through with the dangerous golden souvenir. Sakusa would have to track it down, dispose safely of the hairpin and report the potential exposure. He would have to get a new mask. He sighed, long and tired

The obnoxious part of his mind whispered that it was a good metaphor for Sakusa himself, met and rendered useless by the bright eyes of a boy beyond the wall … 

_ No _ . Sakusa cut off that thought before it could begin. The shadow thief was dangerous, a threat to the structure and safety of the only world he knew. Sakusa felt anger, and the necessary amount of trepidation. He did not feel curious. He absolutely did not feel the strangest tug from somewhere below his rib cage.

Sakusa had a job to do. He pulled his phone from his pocket, swiping open his conversation with the Youth Border Security Team, and began to type:

Be on the lookout for an outer city thief, tall, dressed in black. Goes by the name Memento Mori. Capture on sight.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! This is only half of the second chapter. The rest of this fic is coming out once Sakuatsu fluff week ends!
> 
> Update: Realized I should probably just post the new content in a new chapter so folks won't have to hunt for it here. Chapter 2 is shorter than the rest - I'm sorry to any new readers!

Atsumu peeked out hesitantly from his hideout behind the bathroom door -- and was spotted by the three-year-old bouncing on Kita’s knees. 

“Mustard-kun!” the three-year-old shrieked, pointing an imperious, chubby little finger at his hair. An evil grin cracked across the child’s face. A small blue light blossomed from their fingertip. Atsumu shuddered. 

“I’m not here!” he called out, ducking quickly behind the bathroom door again.

He could almost hear the smile on Kita’s face. “Has the Shadow Thief finally made a guest appearance?” He heard the crinkle from a newly-opened band-aid, and then the unsteady patter of little feet toddling toward the bathroom. 

“Want mustard-kun!” the child commanded.

“Alright, alright!” Atsumu stumbled out from the bathroom door, hands raised as he walked towards his impending demise. Not a second later the child had latched onto his leg koala-style, clambering upward and releasing small sparks of lightning from their palms.

“Ouch!” Atsumu winced at the shock. “Tone down the voltage, kid, will ya?”

The child giggled with delight. They pressed two blue palms onto Atsumu’s tattered jeans, and he yelped loudly. 

Atsumu trudged his way into the living room, smoking slightly. Kita was sitting on the couch, a collection of syringes and vaccine vials on a table beside him. Another child, barely one year old, sat in their parent’s lap on the other side of the couch. All three wore black surgical masks and nitrile gloves, as did Atsumu and the electric monkey-child on his leg. In the kitchen, Osamu shaped rice and umeboshi for the families passing through the impromptu clinic. 

As the parent lifted their sleeve and Kita slid a syringe into their arm, the one-year-old looked up into Atsumu’s eyes.

The living room vanished. It was almost dawn, the sky light and the air breezing cold across his skin. He lay on his back against something cold and unyielding -- the wall? Another figure lay radiating warmth beside him. A partner? Atsumu turned as the first rays of light caught against dark curly hair, flashed onto two small moles. A bright feeling spread through Atsumu’s chest, bubbling spots of happiness… 

“Omi-kun,” Atsumu and the child said at the same time.

Atsumu blinked and found himself back in his living room. Kita, the parent, and the older child clinging to his jeans stared at him curiously. The one-year-old looked away. Finding themself no longer the primary object of attention, they cooed loudly and tugged on their parent’s hair. 

“Me-me-me!” they babbled.

“Shhh,” the parent murmured. They glanced up apologetically at Atsumu. “Seer abilities,” they explained, carding a hand through the child’s hair. “They can show people glimpses of the future. I’m sorry, I should have warned you in advance.”

“It’s a rare gift.” Atsumu attempted a smile. “They’re a lucky one.”

The parent smiled, bowed in thanks to Kita, and untangled their older child from Atsumu’s leg before herding them both out the door.

Atsumu sank into the couch with a sigh. “Damn kids,” he mumbled.

Kita smiled. “Long day hiding in the bathroom?”

Atsumu made a face. “Ya don’t understand, Kita! There’s a whole flock of lightnin’ kids obsessed with me. I swear, ya can only get electric-shocked so many times in a day.”

Kita hovered his hands over the singed holes in Atsumu’s clothing, and the warmth began to spread along his limbs. He closed his eyes, relaxing into the feeling.

“So who’s Omi-kun?”

“Huh?” Atsumu cracked his eyes open, feigning passivity. “Omi-kun? Who’s that? What’s an Omi-kun? Never heard of any Omi-kun’s …”

Kita snorted. “Fine. Keep your secrets, Atsumu. I’ll be around if you want to talk about that vision.” He withdrew his hands and turned to pack the vaccine vials back into an old box.

Atsumu glanced across the room, where a package of black surgical masks sat propped against the wall. He thought back to another mask, one with a golden hairpin sticking out of it…

 _Damn it_ , Atsumu thought to himself. His fists clenched involuntarily. He’d been doing so well today too -- only three passing thoughts of Sakusa and barely any flutters of guilt through his stomach at all. 

(He’d been plagued by guilt the rest of the week, his traitorous brain replaying those flashes of fear in Sakusa’s eyes as he watched the hairpin arc toward him.) 

It felt like the masks were taunting him, reminding him of a boy with pretty hair and terrified eyes. 

With a sigh, he trudged across the room and snatched a surgical mask into his hand. _To hell with the wall_ , he thought to himself. If there was no other way to move on, he’d allow himself this one moment of weakness. He tightened his fingers and tried not to feel like he was marching toward a looming, eerily unknown future. 

“Hey Kita?” he called. “Can I borrow yer powers for somethin’?”

* * *

Last night, the Shadow Thief had made away with another batch of vaccines. The Youth Border Security Team had tightened up their security protocols in response, doubling their nightly patrols around the city’s perimeter. _They would catch him_ , Sakusa promised at the weekly Team meeting, and Ushijima and Oikawa nodded at his words. So Sakusa found himself pacing beside the wall at midnight, an old scarf drawn over his nose and mouth. 

The city knew him well enough to grant him a wide berth, students who recognized him parting in the streets to open up an empty path. If anyone noticed his missing mask, no one mentioned it. If Sakusa felt the briefest pang of loneliness, he didn’t mention it.

He had just turned down another side street when it caught his eye. The sharp glint of plastic in his periphery. His head snapped up, and his heart almost stopped.

It was the same roof he’d stood on a week ago, dart in hand, facing the Shadow Thief. He’d been inexplicably confident then. The roof hung high over his head now. From its corner dangled a small plastic bag, visible only to someone who knew where to look. 

Like lightning, Sakusa’s wrist flicked and a small dart curved through the air. He watched the dart slice cleanly through the bag’s handles. As it fell, Sakusa cupped his hands to catch it.

It landed lighter than he expected, a stiff material pressing into his palm. _It can’t be_ , he thought. Before he could consider the consequences, he reached inside to pull out a black surgical mask. His heart leapt into his throat. It matched the one obscuring a face he’d seen barely a week ago, one he’d tried his hardest to forget… 

A folded slip of paper fluttered from the bag. His hand flicked out to catch it. With shaking fingers, he unfolded the note and began to read.

 _Omi-kun_ , the note began in a messy scrawl. 

Sakusa rolled his eyes, pretending something in him didn’t feel a sudden jab of satisfaction at the nickname.

_ I destroyed your mask about a week ago. I’d apologize, if you weren’t trying to kill me. As it stands, I need a way to get rid of my guilt. I know masks are hard to find in the inner district.  _

_ I asked my friend with healing powers to do some magic. The mask should be impenetrable to the virus, so long as you’re wearing it. You’re welcome.  _

_ Has anyone told you you have nice eyes? And your power is fucking cool. Maybe in another life we would have met a different way.  _

_ I have to ask: why do you wear the mask and gloves? Why are you afraid of a flu you’ve never seen? _

_\--M.M._

Sakusa stared at the note awhile, ignoring the irritatingly persistent squeezing coming from somewhere in his ribcage. A mask impenetrable to the virus. It’s… 

_Your first gift_ , the traitorous voice inside his head reminded him. And then, even more traitorously: _Your first friend?_

With shaking hands, Sakusa bent the mask over the bridge of his nose and hooked the loops behind his ears. He took the first deep breath he’d taken that week. He closed his eyes and gave himself a count of five to indulge in the shallow, fictitious joy bubbling inside him. 

Then he tucked the note into a pocket and pulled out his phone.

 _Maybe in another life_ , its author had written. M.M., the Shadow Thief -- whoever he truly was, Sakusa didn’t know. That line didn’t escape his notice. A clean reminder to them both of who they were to each other, the roles they occupied. What was life and what was fiction. 

Sakusa unlocked his phone and swiped open his messages. _Clear night_ , Tendou had written, earning a thumbs up from Ushijima. After steadying his fingers, Sakusa sent his own response:

Clear night.

A few hours later, a boy with curly black hair crawled into bed as the first rays of sun broke across the horizon. He closed his eyes, then opened them to stare at a black surgical mask perched on his nightstand. He closed his eyes again, and a few minutes later opened them to the steadily growing light with a sigh.

“What am I thinking,” he mumbled as he stumbled his way to his desk.

He pulled out a pen and a piece of stationary, and began to write.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come hang out with me on twitter! I'm @sci_fi_blob


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is technically the second half of chapter 2, so it's a little shorter than most other chapters. I hope folks still enjoy reading it, though!
> 
> Chapter 3 content warnings: descriptions of bigotry & impacts of the pandemic in the Inner District, mentions of past parental death

In the days before his next vaccine run, Atsumu did his best to ignore those pesky sparks of hope in his chest.  _ In what universe _ , his logical side (in Kita’s voice - always Kita’s voice) schooled his stupid heart,  _ would Sakusa willingly respond to a thief from the Outer City? _

Instead, he spent his time bustling around the apartment, shaping onigiri with Osamu and playing with the kids who dropped by Kita’s clinic. Busy was good - and so was time spent in his community. He ran laughing from the ones with sparks of lightning flitting between their palms, and gave the toddler with seer abilities a wide berth. 

He was surprised when, on the return trip from his next vaccine run, the briefest flash of white caught his vision.

A piece of paper, pinned with a dart to the same roof corner he’d chosen for his own message.

There it was -- the hope rising in his chest. Atsumu didn’t immediately drop the vaccines and dash to the rooftop -- a miracle show of restraint, if he did say so himself. Instead, he closed his eyes and let his powers roam for him. 

There was a family living in the rooms below the roof in question. Students roamed the streets, their elbows linked, their laughter loud. A cat slunk through the small alleyways between buildings. Their owner was dashing through the streets in a bathrobe and slippers, calling for them. 

Many people around - but none who registered as threats. Atsumu praised the spirits for his powers as he opened his eyes, took a few steps back, and made a running leap.

Almost as soon as his feet touched down, he was scrambling over and snatching greedily at the paper. He turned it over and began to read.

_ Shadow Thief,  _ it began.

“Aw c’mon, Omi,” Atsumu chuckled under his breath. “Here I am, puttin’ all this work into my brandin’ for nothin’.”

_ Thank you for the mask. Don’t call me Omi.  _

He rolled his eyes, the corners of his mouth tugging upward.

_ I’d apologize for almost killing you, if you hadn’t been stealing vaccines and jeopardizing the safety of the inner city. _

_ You asked me why I fear the flu. I’m not too sure what you mean by this. Do you not fear the flu? We all have our ways of keeping safe and maintaining order, and the flu is a disruption. When the flu first spread, businesses shut down and the city ran out of food and medical supplies in weeks. The wall is what allows life in the inner city to continue. Exposure is a risk we cannot afford.  _

_ I hope you consider this the next time you cross the wall.  _

Atsumu’s brow wrinkled, but he kept quiet.

_ When I was seven we started learning about the history of the wall, and I found out the virus still spreads in the outer city. That’s why I started wearing a mask. You can never be too prepared.  _

_ Since I’ve answered two questions, you owe me two answers. Tell me this: why do you steal vaccines? And what is the outer city like? _

_ Also, because you know my name, you owe me yours. _

_ You have ugly eyes and a weak superpower. _

_ \--S.K. _

Atsumu stared at the note for a few long moments. Then he snorted, muffling the noise behind a hand. “Nice goin’, Omi,” he whispered, tracing a finger over the line asking about his name. The gesture was more gentle than it should have been. “Askin’ for my name in between tellin’ me to stay away and insultin’ my powers. Ya’d wonder why the inner city loves ya so much.”

He whispered the words wryly, and tried to wrangle his stupid heart in line. It didn’t listen. Foolish as it was, Atsumu felt his pulse begin to race, drumming out a little song of hope and joy. He could barely help the way the corners of his mouth turned upward behind his mask. 

_ He told you not to come back _ , the rational part of his brain reminded him.

_ He wants to know more about you _ , the impulsive part replied.

Atsumu tucked the note into his jeans pocket, and plucked the dart from the rooftop for good measure. He slipped it upside down in his other pocket. His mind raced over the note’s contents as he leapt into the night. It gave him a lot to consider, but even as unease prickled in his chest he felt happier than he had in awhile.

* * *

“Saku-chan!” a smooth voice sang as Sakusa stepped into the meeting room. “Fancy seeing you here. The bags under your eyes are unbecoming as always.”

Sakusa shot a glare at a brunette sitting at the head of the meeting table. His feet were propped up against the polished wood. “Get out of my seat, Oikawa.”

Oikawa pinched his nose and blew a raspberry at him. “ _ Get out of my seat _ ,” he mimicked, voice turning emphatically gruff. It shifted back into a whine. “Sheesh, Saku-chan. No need to be so grumpy. Just getting in some practice for when I take your place as the leader of this thing.” He winked and gestured around at the people in the room as he plopped into an adjacent chair.

Sakusa’s brow furrowed. “Are you planning to overthrow me?”

Oikawa threw his head back and laughed. “Overthrow you!” he snorted, throwing a hand against his stomach. “What do you think you are, a prince?” His face shifted suddenly into a smile sharp enough to kill. “If so, consider me the assassin.”

Across the table, an intimidating figure with a face of stone and a light purple track jacket stared back at Oikawa. He looked wholly unconcerned with the predatory expression on Oikawa’s face. His forehead creased. “I did not understand the joke,” he stated in a monotone.

Oikawa groaned, the cruel smile slipping off his face. (Sakusa felt a jab of relief and gratitude.) He slammed his face into the desk. “Please exit my life, Ushiwaka-chan,” he mumbled into his elbow. 

Ushijima’s frown grew deeper. “I regret that I cannot do that. We both serve on the same Youth Security Team.”

“Fuck you, Ushiwaka-chan.” Oikawa let out a high-pitched whine against the table. “Fuck you and your stupid left-handed superpower. Fuck you and--”

Sakusa nodded to his left as he took his place at the head of the table. “Good morning, Ushijima-san.”

“Good morning, Sakusa.”

“Hey! How come Ushiwaka-chan gets a normal greeting?”

Sakusa stopped himself from rolling his eyes. “Unlike some in this room, Ushijima is reliable and his existence does not grate on my soul.”

“No one respects me enough.” Oikawa lifted his face from the table; his lips were drawn into a heavy pout.

“Ooh! Whatcha pick up from the sewers, Sakusa-kun?” A lanky figure with spiky red hair bounced into the room. “A new species of fish?” He moved erratically, eyes widening as he leered at Oikawa. He wagged a long, spindly finger in his direction. “Careful there, Kawa-Kawa. Your face might get stuck like that!” He laughed and clapped his hands gleefully, as though the thought brought him nothing but joy.

Oikawa’s face slipped into a sneer. “Well, well. If it isn’t the  _ monster _ of the inner city. Who let you out of your cage, Ten-chan?”

Emotion flashed finally through Ushijima’s eyes. He leaned toward Oikawa, his face severe. “Do not,” he warned, “call Tendou that again.”

His eyes met Oikawa’s narrowed ones, and they stared each other down like the rest of the world had disappeared. 

Tendou’s face grew infinitesimally softer as he slid into the seat beside Ushijima. “S’okay, Wakatoshi-kun,” he said gently. He folded his hands behind his head and leaned back, relaxed. “No need to pick fights on my behalf.”

Ushijima broke eye contact with Oikawa to face him. “You are not a monster.”

Tendou winked at him. “‘Course not. You’re the only monster in this city.”

Oikawa pantomimed a gagging motion.  _ Gross _ , he mouthed at the two of them.

Sakusa sighed, rubbing at the growing headache through his temples. If it were up to him, he wouldn’t have placed Tendou, Ushijima, and Oikawa on the same Youth Security division in a million years. It was like keeping two passive-aggressive piranhas and an underwater torpedo in the same tank. Someone was bound to get eaten alive or blown to shreds.

Of course, if it were up to him he’d run the inner city a whole lot differently. But those decisions weren’t his to make. That power rested solely with the city council, which loved its traditions and valued results of the inner city hero rankings above all else. Hence the topic of today’s meeting.

Sakusa cleared his throat. “Are we still missing Komori?” he asked.

“Not anymore!” a voice called from the doorway. Sakusa turned to watch his infinitely optimistic cousin bound through the doorway, light hair flapping around his ears. He slipped into his seat just seconds away from being late. 

“What’s on the agenda, cousin?” Komori asked, pulling out a notepad with a cheerful smile.

Sakusa, in a grand exercise of restraint, did not comment on Komori’s near-lateness or his casual address. Instead, he tapped a button on the desk, and an image projected onto the far wall as the lights dimmed.

“The hero awards,” he said, pointing at the picture being projected. It was a photo of last year’s Youth Hero Awards ceremony. Sakusa stood on the first place platform, accepting a medal from his father who was clearly smiling for the camera. To his left stood a stoic Ushijima with a silver second place medal; to his right, Oikawa clutched a bronze medal and pouted. 

The current-day Oikawa also slipped into a pout. “Couldn’t you have chosen a more flattering photo of me, Saku-chan?” he complained.

“Rankings will be announced at the end of this month,” Sakusa continued, ignoring Oikawa. “Because we are the top-ranked Youth Security division, all of us are in the running for awards.”

Oikawa’s pout disappeared, replaced by a sudden burst of interest. “The end of this month?” he asked, perking up. 

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” Sakusa snapped at him. 

“Just making sure.” Oikawa didn’t even take the bait, leaning backwards and drumming his fingers against the table. His eyes were wide and calculating. Sakusa could see the gears turning rapidly in his head. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t scare him. He cleared his throat.

“I should not have to remind anyone,” he said, looking pointedly at Oikawa, “that more is at stake than our individual hero rankings. We are the top Youth Security division, and our job is what keeps the inner city safe. We should always run our patrols with the utmost rigor, regardless of whether an award is at stake.”

Oikawa snorted at him. “Big talk, Saku-chan, but we all know you’re gunning for first again. You can stop pretending you don’t care about your image in the city.”

Sakusa opened his mouth to defend himself, but the flash of his father’s eyes in the back of his mind stopped him.  _ You’re not wrong _ , he thought bitterly - although his own motivations were quite different from Oikawa’s. Before he could say anything, however, another voice responded for him.

“It is not about image, or rankings,” Ushijima said resolutely. “Our job is to protect the inner city. After the wall, we are the most important line of defense for the residents.” He turned to face Sakusa. “What are our instructions from the city council?”

Sakusa nodded at him, thankful for the return to topic. “Same as last week, for the most part.” He clicked the button, and the slide advanced. “Enforcing curfew will probably be our main task now that school is out.” Another click. “A group of kids in the west city have been repeatedly caught trying to scale the wall. Rumor has it someone at their school is running a betting pool.” He looked at Tendou and Komori, whose patrols covered that region. “Watch the wall carefully. They won’t be a huge security risk, but we should be vigilant about exposure nonetheless.”

Tendou and Komori nodded at him.

Sakusa took a deep breath. This last slide was the one he’d been dreading most - for multiple reasons. He clicked the button, and the projected image switched to a photograph of a large warehouse with a number of boxes overturned and opened. Inside were half-empty bags of vaccine vials and syringes. 

“This photo was taken three days ago, after the last raid on our vaccine stores,” he said, keeping his voice steady. “We’ve had ten raids this year alone, and over three hundred vials stolen from our stores.”

A sharp intake of breath followed his statement. Oikawa’s eyes were fiery and wide, fixed intently on the screen.

“The primary suspect,” Sakusa continued, “is an unnamed thief from the Outer City. He’s been caught crossing the wall with vaccines” - Sakusa’s eyes flickered down, the memory flashing, then back up again - “and he goes by the name Memento Mori.”

“The Shadow Thief,” Oikawa whispered. His eyes looked strange, almost hungry. He fixed them on Sakusa. “What’s the reward for capturing him?”

Sakusa swallowed against the sudden twist in his gut. “Fifty thousand points in the rankings.”

Oikawa’s mouth dropped open.  _ Fifty thousand _ , he mouthed incredulously. It was enough to put anyone - even the lowest-ranked hero in the inner city - in first place by a wide margin. 

Sakusa didn’t know if the tightness in his chest was excitement or dread. He watched the gears click together behind Oikawa’s eyes.

“Wow,” Komori said, with a delay. “They must be taking him really seriously.” His brows were furrowed, flitting between the projection, Oikawa, and Sakusa. 

“Yes,” Sakusa said, and he hoped the wobble in his voice was barely noticeable. “He’s the single biggest threat to the safety of the inner city. Whoever catches him will be guaranteed first prize.”

* * *

Atsumu found a familiar figure waiting up for him at home. Osamu leaned against the frame of the red door, arms crossed and brow furrowed. Once Atsumu spotted him, his good mood dissipated fast.

“Yer late, Tsumu,” he said when Atsumu reached the entrance. His body blocked Atsumu from entering the apartment. Behind him, steam was rising from a pot on the stove. “It’s almost mornin’.”

Atsumu nodded toward the kitchen, playing it casual. “What are ya cookin’ in the middle of the night for?”

“I’m reheatin’ dinner for ya since ya missed it.” Osamu’s frown grew deeper. “And don’t change the subject. Where were ya?”

Atsumu sighed, drawing his lips into an expression he hoped was passably weary. “‘S the new security,” he said, not meeting Osamu’s eyes. “They’ve lined the entire wall and some rooftops with traps. Anywhere that’s not residential is now rigged. I’ve gotta come up with new paths through the inner city that won’t get me caught.”

Osamu’s eyes narrowed. “He’s not still givin’ ya trouble, is he?” he asked. “The mayor’s son? If he is--”

“No! No, he’s not. Haven’t seen him since.” Atsumu responded quickly as he scrutinized his shoes. That last part was true, at least. He hadn’t seen Sakusa, although it wasn’t from his own lack of trying.

“If there’s an issue, ya’d tell me about it,” Osamu said. “Right, Tsumu?”

“Right. Yeah.”

“Okay.” Osamu gave him a last lingering look before he turned and swept into the apartment. “Soup’ll be ready in five.”

Atsumu toed off his sneakers at the doorway, breathing out deeply. The secret was safe. He padded over to the stove to peer over his brother’s shoulder, sniffing the air. “Didja add enough salt, Samu?”

Osamu shot him a dirty look. “Don’t pretend ya know anythin’ about cookin’, Tsumu. Ya couldn’t make tea without almost settin’ the whole house on fire.”

Atsumu wrinkled his nose. “When’d ya become such an asshole?”

Osamu hip-checked him into the table. “S’not possible for someone to grow up with ya without pickin’ up yer cynicism and garbage vocabulary.”

“Ow,” Atsumu complained, rubbing at his side. “No need to be so rough, Samu. This body’s the only reason ya get yer annual vaccine, ya know.” He chuckled lowly, shooting a glance toward his brother.

Osamu wasn’t listening to him. He stared at the small object the collision had unearthed, which now dangled out of Atsumu’s pocket. Before Atsumu could react, he’d snatched the dart and lifted it into the air.

“Tsumu,” he snapped, shaking it for emphasis. His eyes were wide. “What the hell is this?”

Atsumu’s hands had raised halfway toward the dart. “Uh, listen, Samu … no need to overreact, okay? I can explain.”

“Is this a dart? Is this  _ Sakusa  _ fuckin’  _ Kiyoomi’s _ dart?”

“Samu, ya gotta just listen to me--”

“Why are ya lyin’ to me, Tsumu? Why can’t ya just tell me when yer in danger?” Osamu snapped. He reached out and flipped the stove burner off. It clicked too loudly. “Why are ya hidin’ shit like this from me?”

Atsumu swallowed. “I’m not in danger, Samu. I knew ya’d react this way if I said anythin’. I knew … fuck.” He ran a hand through his hair, took a deep breath. “Samu, look - nothin’ about what I do is safe.” He tried to find a calming register to his voice, slowing the pace of his words. It was a trick he’d learned from his mother years ago. “But I know how to take care of myself. Security just looks a little different now, but I’ll be okay. Promise, Samu.” 

He ignored the heavy guilt in his stomach. If Osamu knew what was really going on, he’d be furious. Atsumu couldn’t blame him.

Osamu stirred the contents of the pot a little too harshly, not looking up. “I know ya got a dumb complex ‘bout yer own worth, Tsumu.” His voice sounded a little guarded, a little tight. “Ya’ve been that way for years. Never carin’ about yer own safety. Ever since Ma-” he cut off, swallowed, and didn’t finish the sentence.

Atsumu forced out a chuckle. He forced his brain to stay in the present moment. “What are ya now, my therapist?”

Osamu sighed, fumbling with the ladle. “Just… don’t forget we’re all relyin’ on ya. Not just me and Kita, but the whole neighborhood.” He swallowed. “Okay?” He turned to grab bowls, his back to Atsumu and his face hidden. “We need ya to come home safe, Tsumu. Do it for the community, if ya won’t do it for yerself.”

“Samu, I--”

“Don’t.” Osamu waved a hand vaguely toward the hallway. “Just - don’t. Go wash yer hands, Tsumu, they’re filthy.” His voice was uncharacteristically raspy.

As Atsumu padded toward the bathroom, guilt tightened around his heart. He’d been so caught up in the whirlwind of his encounter with Sakusa - the thrill of secrecy and that something else which bubbled in his chest. He’d been so excited. He’d let himself get carried away. 

He closed his eyes, trying to pull up the images that always helped him refocus. His parents, the last time he’d seen them in the inner city. Osamu’s face when Atsumu returned without them, expression blank and shuttered. 

It was a dangerous world, and everyone relied on his ability to work without distractions.

Unbidden, an image of Sakusa’s unmasked face also surfaced. The dark eyes, the ringlets on his forehead. No matter what he did, Atsumu couldn’t cast the image from his mind.

* * *

That night, Atsumu stared at the letter he’d pulled from his pocket. It was wrinkled from the day’s activities. He tried to smooth it out as he sat on the edge of his bed.  _ Also, because you know my name, you own me yours _ , he read from the page.

_ Fuck you, Sakusa Kiyoomi _ , he thought without really meaning it. With a sigh, he tucked the letter under his pillow. Then he moved to his desk and began to write.

An hour later, the full moon shone bright in the sky. Atsumu caught a glimpse of it as he slipped quietly out the door. “Sorry, Samu,” he whispered into the cold night air. “Sorry, okaa-san.” He turned his head toward the stars, pausing for just a moment before he ran into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come hang out with me on twitter! I'm @sci_fi_blob


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> managed to finish this earlier than expected - hope folks enjoy!
> 
> Chapter 4 content warnings: loss of bodily control, mentions of parental loss

Sakusa’s footsteps cut through the silence of his father’s office. The room was quiet and cold; Sakusa had only been here a handful of times before. Behind him the door slammed shut. 

“Kiyoomi,” a voice said, and Sakusa jumped. He turned to his right, where his father sat behind a heavy desk. His hair was graying but his eyes were sharp as they bore into Sakusa.

Sakusa schooled his face into a neutral mask. He inclined his head in a small bow. “Father,” he murmured. 

“Son.” His father’s voice sounded dry and bored, as if he were commenting on the weather. “Have you given any thought to your future?”

Sakusa shuffled his feet. “Yes.” He stared at the rug in his father’s office.

His father cleared his throat. “And?” He leaned forward onto his elbows, hands steepled.

“I wish to go into city politics,” Sakusa replied smoothly.

“Ah.” He smiled. “City politics, hm? And what are you doing now to prepare yourself for that future?”

“I lead the Youth Border Security Division. I’ve been the top ranked youth hero in the inner district for the past five years.”

“Mm.” His father pointed a finger at him. “Be careful there, son.” He tapped his index fingers together. “As I hear, there are two other contenders in the running for first prize. Both of them are in the Border Security Division with you. You remember City Councilmember Oikawa from our last holiday dinner?

Sakusa gave a short nod, his throat bitter.

“His son, Oikawa Tooru, has improved leaps and bounds these past few years. His power is not impressive, but he wields it well. Rumor has it he’s harboring ambitions for mayorship.” He met Sakusa’s eyes, his gaze piercing. “You and I both know that would be unacceptable.”

Sakusa swallowed. “What do you need me to do?

His father leaned back, his eyes calculating. “Whatever you need to secure first prize this year. Catch some unruly kids. Break up a fight. If the Shadow Thief comes within your grasp again, don’t let him get away, Kiyoomi.”

“I won’t, father.” Sakusa let nothing show in his face. 

“Good,” his father had murmured. “I expect nothing but the best from you.”

* * *

Sakusa began his night patrol with a growing sense of unease. 

As he wound past people and alleyways, he reached up to play with the straps of his new mask. It had been an adjustment at first; his old mask was made of different material, and fit higher on his nose. It hadn’t been impenetrable, though. Sakusa didn’t do well with change, but he’d taken to this gift better than expected. After a few days it fit like a second skin, and afforded Sakusa a level of safety he hadn’t felt in a long time.

He felt another pang of guilt that he was working to capture the person who’d gifted it to him. 

He hadn’t heard from the Shadow Thief in days. No new raids had been reported since Sakusa’s last letter. Perhaps the Shadow Thief had taken Sakusa’s warning to heart, and resolved to stay away. That was the best possible scenario for the inner district - but it did nothing to quell the stab of regret in his stomach.

The rational part of him knew it was best if the Shadow Thief didn’t show up again. Sakusa couldn’t afford new distractions, not now that the Youth Hero Awards were so close. Not now that his family’s political career hinged on his own emotional detachment from the thief he had to capture. 

So Sakusa found himself scrutinizing the streets he patrolled, not knowing if he wanted to see the Shadow Thief again or have him disappear off the face of the earth. 

It would make Sakusa’s life infinitely easier if he never saw those gold eyes again.

… Was it wrong to want them, though? Was it wrong to yearn for something impossible?

Sakusa rounded a corner, and much like the first time, his breath caught in his throat. A flutter of white paper beckoned to him from the corner of the roof. In no time at all Sakusa had scaled the building. He reached for the note, peeling back layers of tape as carefully as if he were unwrapping gold. 

The letter was long this time, spanning multiple sheets of paper. A small, bright spot of satisfaction bloomed in his chest. 

_ Omi-kun, _ he read. He barely even rolled his eyes this time. He scanned down hungrily.

_ Nice try, sharpshot. But I don’t spill secrets to the enemy.  _ A bad attempt at a winking emoji was scrawled onto the page.

_ To be honest I’m surprised you wrote back. Thought you were afraid, Omi? _

Well. Sakusa swallowed. He wasn’t entirely wrong.

_ Why do I steal vaccines? Why do  _ you _ patrol the inner district? I have the skills to do it, and so I do. My okaa-san taught me how. She’s gone now. When we were twelve my twin brother and I moved in with Kita and his grandparents. He runs a clinic in the neighborhood - that’s where the vaccines go _

Sakusa felt his brow wrinkling. The passage raised more questions than it answered. He touched the paper mindlessly, imagining the Shadow Thief’s hands lingering on the same spots just hours prior. There was so much he would have asked, if they were conversing in person.

_ What is the outer city like? I could lie to you, Omi. Would you be able to tell the difference? I don’t have an exotic answer. My neighborhood is mostly apartment buildings. Everyone wears masks and gloves outside. We grow more of our own food. We trade with other neighborhoods for supplies - the vaccines help a lot with that. The biggest thing is the flu, but it’s a familiar fear. Like the wall, you know? It’s always been there, and we learn to live around it.  _

Huh, Sakusa thought. He flipped to the next page. 

_ You can’t avoid fear, Omi-kun. My okaa-san used to say that fear is not always dangerous. Only when it makes you forget what’s important. _

_ Good night, Omi. _

_ \--M.M. _

Sakusa stared at the page a while longer. He felt a storm of emotions and reactions brewing in him, unsure which were safe to feel. Surprise? Mirth? Empathy? 

_ It’s a familiar fear. Like the wall, you know? It’s always been there, and we learn to live around it.  _

As he skimmed the words again, old memories resurfaced.

“Sakusa-kun, take your mask off please. Accessories are not allowed in class.” He’d swallowed as he complied, small hands shaking. His classmates had snickered around him.

“Look, it’s the mayor’s son.” More laughter. Sakusa had just refused to touch their class science project. “What are you so afraid of, huh?”

“We won’t go easy on you just because of your father,” a low voice had whispered in his ear. “Afraid of a little dirt, prince?” He’d been sent tumbling into the mud behind their schoolyard. 

“You need to toughen up, son. It’s not a good look for either of us if you can’t handle crowds.”

“Face your fears, son.”

“What a weak prince.”

“What’s he so afraid of?”

Sakusa swallowed. He didn’t like thinking back on his childhood, back before his powers manifested. His fears had only been intensified by the reactions of people around him, until the repulsion of infected surfaces and the harshness of echoed words bled into a single aversion. He avoided crowds. He wore his mask. His powers were formidable enough that no one bothered him about it anymore. He was used to the buzz of fear like ambient noise in the backdrop of his life. 

_ You can’t avoid fear, Omi-kun. _

He’d never met another person who understood that fear. Maybe it could be chalked up to the fact that the Shadow Thief knew what it felt like to lose someone he loved - or to risk his safety every week to protect the people he cared about. Sakusa might be the top-ranked inner district hero, but he doubted he had that same type of courage.

Sakusa traced the letter again with a finger. The Shadow Thief mentioned a brother, and Kita - a friend? He had people who cared about him, people who relied on him. People who would miss him if he disappeared.

In that moment, Sakusa didn’t feel very much like a hero.

* * *

This time it was Kita waiting up for Atsumu when he came home.

Kita rose to his feet, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. He looked strikingly similar to Osamu the night before, his eyes steady and face impassive.

“S’this a two-step intervention?” Atsumu called once he was close enough. He hooked the mask off his face. “Osamu first, then ya?”

Kita didn’t take the bait. Atsumu didn’t expect him to. “Is somethin’ wrong, Atsumu?”

Atsumu looked away. “Why do ya ask?”

“Ya’ve been quieter lately. Ya always look like yer ponderin’ some world-changin’ decision.” Kita’s voice was steady, his gaze piercing. Atsumu kept his eyes on his feet. 

“Huh. Have I?” Atsumu responded weakly. He cursed himself internally for his answer. Kita was always too good at reading people. 

Kita gave him a long appraisal. “Ya can tell me anythin’, Tsumu,” he said softly. “I won’t think any differently of ya. I won’t care any less about ya. Ya know that, right?”

Atsumu swallowed conspicuously. He’d never been able to lie to Kita’s face.  _ Damn you, Kita _ , he thought. Kita’s eyes were boring into his forehead. He clamped his mouth shut, but he knew his own silence wouldn’t last long if this kept up… 

Kita turned on his heel and swept into the house. “Go take a shower,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll wake Osamu when yer ready.”

It took Atsumu a full ten seconds to register what had just happened. “Huh?” he said to the doorway. 

“I know better than to question ya before yer ready to talk.” Kita’s voice reached him from the kitchen. “Go clean up, Atsumu. We’ll continue this later.”

Atsumu unfroze, then scampered quickly to the bathroom, away from Kita’s all-seeing eyes. He took a deep breath when he reached the sink, meeting his own eyes in the mirror. They looked wide, caught in surprise. 

Kita had let him off, for now. 

* * *

“Damn ya, Kita,” Atsumu muttered under his breath. “Askin’ all the questions about shit I can’t tell ya.” He leapt, then landed quietly onto the next inner district rooftop.

Atsumu still felt the phantom weight of Kita’s eyes during his next vaccine run. It had been a day since Kita confronted him at the door to their apartment. It had been two days since Osamu found the dart in Atsumu’s pocket. They hadn’t talked to each other since, the air thick with tension between them at home.

It must have been driving Kita crazy. He had the patience of an angel, and Atsumu made a mental note to apologize to him when he got back. 

He bent his knees, then launched silently onto the next roof. Heavy clouds obscured the moon, and the Inner District was darker tonight, shadows encapsulating the normally lively streets. People must be gathering indoors, drawn by instinct away from what the shadows could hide.

For Atsumu, the shadows were familiar terrain. He could probably pick his way across the inner district rooftops with his eyes closed. As he moved he let himself drift away, allowing everything he’d been suppressing in the apartment rush suddenly to the surface.

The rasp in Osamu’s voice, the silhouette of his back in the kitchen. Kita’s promise to him: _ Ya can tell me anythin’, Tsumu. I won’t care any less about ya _ . That knowing look in his eyes. It was the same promise he’d made to Atsumu the night he and Osamu had stumbled into the Kita household, twelve years old and shivering and newly parentless. Kita hadn’t been much older than them, but he’d seemed to know exactly what it was the Miya twins needed. He’d let them stumble in and promised to them, over and over, that they were safe. They had a home. He would care for them. He’d never broken that promise.

Then again: Atsumu had made sure he never gave Kita a reason to. He didn’t intend to start now. 

_ Don’t forget we’re all relyin’ on ya _ . Osamu wasn’t wrong, and Atsumu couldn’t afford to forget it. His usefulness as the next Shadow Thief was what kept the people around him close; it was his one guarantee they would stay. He was under no illusions about his own likeability. His job was to keep Osamu and Kita safe. He couldn’t lose them - not after he’d lost his own parents, and not when he knew he’d never been truly forgiven for that mistake. 

How could they forgive him, when it had cost them everything? How could Osamu forgive him when he couldn’t even forgive himself--

He froze as movement flashed through his peripheral vision.  _ Shit. _ Was someone actually out tonight? He turned, glancing around him, and realized with a pang that he’d veered off his normal course. He was somewhere on the south side of the inner district, the shopping and residential districts giving way to the flatter roofs of office buildings. Everyone must have gone home by this hour, and the silence was eerie and unsettling.

Atsumu closed his eyes and let his powers roam. Unease prickled at his neck, but he knew he had no need to panic yet. If anyone was nearby, he’d be able to detect them and move accordingly. His awareness expanded; he could feel the rustle of leaves against the rooftops, the wind rattling the shutters against office windows, the presence of something warm and blurry at the edge of his vision… 

Before he could react, the warmth had expanded, cutting off his power and turning his limbs soft. He found himself slumping against the rooftop, feeling suddenly very tired. There was something he should be worried about, something urgent, but he couldn’t quite remember what it was. It felt like trying to recall something out of a dream… 

“Another psychic power,” a low voice crooned from behind him. “Rare, and impressive.”

Atsumu groaned, trying to regain movement in his own limbs. “Who are ya?” he mumbled. 

The voice chuckled. “But not impressive enough, I think. Considering your current position.” Atsumu heard footsteps echoing in a half-circle around him, until they stopped in front of him. “Open your eyes, but don’t move.”

Atsumu found his body responding without his conscious control. His limbs locked; he couldn’t shift them even if he wanted. His eyes slid open to the sight of a tall figure with light brown hair and a teal windbreaker, staring back at him. His lips were curled into a menacing grin.

_ Mind control _ , Atsumu thought, a shiver traveling up his spine. 

“Hello, Thief-chan,” the figure said, voice light and eyes ravenous. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you.”

* * *

Sakusa was in the training gym for youth heroes when he felt it. A shiver, just barely perceptible - a sense that something had gone wrong.

The training gym was made of a series of arenas, simulation rooms, and obstacle courses designed to test a range of powers. Most youth heroes came here during the day to train, but the building was abandoned by early evening. Oikawa often came early to show off in the combat arena; he had no physical powers that other heroes used as a leg up in their training, but he could use his close-range mind control ruthlessly. He’d gotten good lately, formidable even; some of the younger heroes had begun to hang around his heels, clamoring for his mentorship.

The gym was silent and empty at this hour. Sakusa only came here past midnight when he needed a distraction, some way to keep busy. 

He was in the shooting range now, the target in front of him sporting an impressive collection of darts down its center line. His hand was raised behind his head, a dart between his thumb and index finger. He’d been just about to throw. The shiver stopped him in his tracks, and a second later his phone buzzed. 

Sakusa fished it from his pocket, brow furrowing. Aside from Komori, his father, or the Youth Security Team, no one was in the habit of texting him. Certainly no one texted him this late at night. Not unless there was an emergency, something urgent or something gone wrong…

Sakusa swiped his messages open, spotting two new ones from Oikawa. One was sent to the Security Team group chat, the second to Sakusa alone. His brow furrowed. Oikawa had never reached out to him directly before. 

He opened the group chat, and then he froze.

Oikawa had snapped a blurry photo while on patrol. Sakusa recognized the dark outlines of office buildings, and the silhouette of a figure crouching. The figure had turned his head away from the camera, but even with his face obscured Sakusa would recognize that shadow anywhere.

12:14pm

Shadow Thief, sighting at the Seijoh office

catch up to me if you can~

Sakusa’s blood went cold. He tapped open the private message next, his fingers shaking.

12:15pm

thanks for the competition, Saku-chan~

but looks like I’ve cornered him first

Sakusa sprinted out of the training gym, heart pounding. Oikawa was the worst possible person to have caught the Shadow Thief first. Ushijima and Tendou were dangerous in their own ways, but Oikawa was both manipulative and hungry. He was merciless; the type of ambition that would stop at nothing to feed itself.

In that moment, the youth hero rankings were the farthest thing from his mind. All he could think was:  _ Let him be safe. Please let him be okay. _

Sakusa had never run faster in his life. 

* * *

Atsumu tried to respond, but his lips had clamped shut of their own accord. He tried to grasp at some sense of panic, but all he felt was a deep weariness that weighed down his limbs and prevented him from moving. 

“So,” the figure said, tilting his head to appraise Atsumu. “You’re probably wondering who I am.” He waved his hand in a theatrical gesture at himself. “Who is this mysterious hero with formidable psychic abilities, hmm? Who is this powerful person who can incapacitate the Shadow Thief without even lifting a finger!” His grin turned into a sneer. “When even  _ Sakusa Kiyoomi _ , darling of the Inner District, couldn’t do it.” He spat the name out like it was garbage. 

_ Sounds like an inferiority complex _ , Atsumu thought, from the part of his mind that still belonged to him.

“Ah.” Something sharp flitted through the figure’s eyes. “I heard that, Thief-chan. Careful there. You don’t want to make an enemy of me.”

Atsumu’s eyes widened infinitesimally.  _ Could he hear thoughts? _

The smile returned. “Only the thoughts of those I’m controlling, unfortunately.” He knelt so his face was level with Atsumu’s. “It has its limitations, but I’ve learned to use it quite well. If I do say so myself.”

Atsumu’s left eye twitched.  _ Who was this person? _

The grin split wider. The figure leaned a little closer; light from a far-off streetlamp caught part of his face, so that half of him was rendered visible, the other half obscured by shadows. The red glow of the streetlamp reflected off his one visible eye, making his predatory stare sharper.

“I’m sorry, where are my manners?” he murmured, sounding not at all apologetic. He extended an elegant hand. “Oikawa Tooru. Mayor in the making. Future leader of the Border Security Team.”

_ Isn’t that Omi’s job?  _ Atsumu thought.

Oikawa Tooru’s eyes narrowed in amusement. “Omi?” he asked, his voice lilting.

Atsumu smacked his forehead with a metaphorical palm.  _ Shit. _

“Shit indeed,” Oikawa chuckled. Atsumu could see the gears spinning behind his eyes. “So I take it you’re familiar with our darling Saku-chan?” His eyes met Atsumu’s.

Unbidden, a series of images flitted through Atsumu’s mind. The outline of Sakusa’s letter in his pillowcase. A black mask slipped into a bag hung on a rooftop corner. The ringlets of Sakusa’s hair, backlit by the moon, the first time Atsumu had seen him.

Atsumu blinked, and the night came back into focus. Oikawa had leaned even closer, staring straight into Atsumu’s eyes. His amber eyes were hungry and wide, his head tilted to the right. 

“Interesting,” he whispered, his breath playing across Atsumu’s face. “Very interesting. I wonder what our dear Saku-chan is up to?”

_ Leave him out of this, _ Atsumu thought, before he could stop himself.

Oikawa’s eyes narrowed. “Want some advice?” His voice was low, almost indecipherable. He leaned even closer. “Love is a weakness, Thief-chan. It doesn’t belong in our line of work. Once you care about someone, they become a liability, a way to get to you. Smarter heroes will learn to use them as pawns.” His fingertips ghosted across Atsumu’s wrist. “Smarter heroes like me.”

_ Omi is stronger than you _ , Atsumu thought, his throat tight.

Oikawa’s face twisted into a grimace. “I know, Thief-chan. Believe me, I know. That’s why I always plan ahead.” Before Atsumu could react, he had leaned in, his lips level with Atsumu’s ear. “Go home,” he whispered. “Forget about this, Thief-chan. If your friends ask, you were deterred by a trap. Don’t mention me to anyone.”

Atsumu’s brows drew together.  _ Are you letting me go?  _ Oikawa’s voice was like a lullaby; he found himself falling into the words, bits of memory already clouding over. 

Oikawa hummed. “Not quite. You’ll make a valuable bargaining chip, Thief-chan.” He brushed a strand of hair away from Atsumu’s ear. “The next time you come into the city to steal vaccines,” he whispered, “You’ll meet me on this roof. You’ll come unarmed. You won’t fight me, and you won’t remember anything. Got it?”

Without his permission, Atsumu’s chin dipped and lifted. A nod. Oikawa grinned again. He waved a hand dismissively. “Get out of here,” he commanded. “I’ll see you soon.”

In a daze, Atsumu’s body rose, and he leapt across the rooftops back toward the wall. As he moved, the memory grew dimmer. Atsumu tried to grasp at it futilely. Why was he leaving? He wasn’t sure - he only knew that he had to get out of the inner district. As he moved, he thought he felt a pair of eyes following him, tracking his every movement.

* * *

“Oikawa!” Sakusa shouted. He leapt across the space between the Fukurodani and Seijoh rooftops. “Oikawa, where are you?”

He came to a stop on the rooftop from Oikawa’s picture, breathing heavily. It was probably the fastest he’d ever sprinted across the inner district. Even from afar, he’d been able to tell something was wrong. The night had been too silent; no hint of a fight or a chase. He scanned the rooftop again, where neither Oikawa nor the Shadow Thief were in sight now.

“Oikawa!” he yelled again, panic racing through his veins. “Where is he? Where did you--”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” a low voice crooned from behind him.

Sakusa spun around with a gasp. “ _ Shit _ ,” he hissed. Oikawa sat cross-legged on the roof behind him, smiling like he’d been there the whole time. “Oikawa. Where is the Shadow Thief?”

“He got away,” Oikawa said easily. He looked up at Sakusa, his eyes mirthful. It sent a jolt of unease through Sakusa. “He’s a slippery thing, isn’t he?”

Sakusa swallowed. His breathing was still harsh. “He … he got away?” he asked uncertainly.

Oikawa chuckled. “He got away,” he repeated. His eyes were brimming with a hunger that didn’t match his words. He looked as though he’d just won a gambit and was a move away from checkmate. 

Sakusa shivered, thinking back to the handful of times he’d faced Oikawa in the combat arena. The way his muscles had frozen, his fingers had stopped obeying him, whenever he’d let Oikawa get too close. “But … how?”

Oikawa winked in place of a reply. He rose to his feet, dusting off his pants. “All in a day’s work,” he answered to the sky. Before he leapt away, he wiggled his fingers back at Sakusa. “See you tomorrow, Saku-chan!” 

He disappeared, and Sakusa stared after him, a cold, unsettling fear washing over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come find me on twitter! I'm @sci_fi_blob


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